


Off the Grid

by Lady CAMo (LadeeCam0)



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadeeCam0/pseuds/Lady%20CAMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel Radcliffe had once said that he wanted to be the first gay James Bond, and that Rupert Grint would be his Bond Boy (instead of a Bond Girl). So with that in mind, I offer the following.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Even in his early fifties, one could still see boyish features in his face, especially with those round-rimmed glasses that had become so popular in the recent past. How many fashion trends had been inspired by children’s and young adult literature? He couldn’t say. It really wasn’t his job to follow such trends, but he needed to be aware of them. An important part of being a secret agent was the secret part, and if one didn’t look like one fit with the times one would draw too much attention to oneself. Fortunately, middle-aged men could wear suits just about anywhere in the Western world and no one would think anything of it. And a middle-aged man in a suit carrying a single red rose? He’d simply be taken for a romantic gentleman, which wasn’t all that far from the truth.

“Did you oversleep, Double-O Seven?” Moneypenny asked archly, returning the prayer rug to the drawer in the filing cabinet that had been reserved for just that purpose. Usually, she called him James. This time, she addressed him by his agent number. That didn’t bode well. “The single rose again. I’ve long known it was you leaving it there on my desk. You usually arrive whilst I’m in the midst of my midday prayers, rarely after and almost never before. So maybe you thought I wouldn’t know who was leaving it there?”

“To answer your first question: no, I didn’t oversleep,” James replied, trying to remain suave and debonair. Of all the people he’d ever encountered, the only one who could knock him off kilter with little or no effort was Moneypenny. It had nothing to do with her striking beauty, as it took more than good looks to distract an agent as successful as the infamous James Bond. Even in that exquisitely tailored suit —white shirt paired with a wasistcoat, jacket, and floor-length skirt of the most perfect black— and a hijab that perfectly matched the gold embroidered violet of her pocket square, she was absolutely stunning to behold. But, it was what lay behind those eyes and what was conveyed in her voice that truly captivated him. There was only one other person on the planet from whom Double-O Seven learned so much about love. James would never love Moneypenny the way she’d once hoped for, but he truly loved her nonetheless. Aside from his husband, no one knew James Bond better than Moneypenny. “I was preparing for a meeting,” he added, completing his excuse.

“Yes, well, it’s not everyday someone like you gets to meet the Duchess of Cambridge,” she snapped as she placed the rose in a vase and sat at her desk, her hands folded expectantly.

“Moneypenny—”

“When were you going to tell me?” It wasn’t so much a question as a command for information.

Double-O Seven sighed defeatedly. How many years —decades— had he been engaged in this dance of words and awkwardness with her? Would he never learn that here before him now was the one person in the world whom he could never beat at this game? _Maybe that’s the problem_ , he realized. _It’s not a game. Not with Moneypenny. Only a fool would try to play her._

Grasping for anything, he said, “I thought you had a special person in your life?”

“I do, James,” she replied, and he was relieved by her use of his first name. “But, you could have at least been gentleman enough to tell me that you were not only not interested in me but immensely incompatible with me. Now back to the question at hand: when were you going to tell me.”

“I guess I was waiting for the proper moment,” Bond said sheepishly.

“You married him two and a half years ago! A proper moment hadn’t presented itself in that time? Well, if you were waiting until your retirement to tell me, you might as well speak now or forever hold your peace,” Moneypenny said tersely.

“What?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” She seemed to be enjoying this all too much. “Your days as a field agent are over. Fifty-three isn’t exactly the prime age for field work. And your husband will appreciate being able to spend more time with you.”

He was speechless. Yes, he’d been a field agent for a long time. And, yes, in spite of his diet and exercise, there was only so much that he could do stave off the effects of aging. But was his field work really over at fifty-three? James was truly conflicted. He felt as if a weight was both lifted from and added to his shoulders. Looking back at Moneypenny, he saw compassion in her gaze even through her frustration with him.

“James?”

“Moneypenny. I was afraid. I was afraid I’d hurt you even more deeply than simply rebuffing your affections,” he explained. Taking a deep breath he said, “Moneypenny, I’m gay. Yes, I’ve had sex with a lot of women over the years. So, maybe that means I’m bisexual, but homoromanic. I’ve had sex with men during my work over the years, too. But I’ve only ever fell in love with one person.”

“Alexander.”

“…”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Moneypenny chided. “Just because I’m M’s secretary doesn’t mean I don't have access to privileged information.”

“I know,” Double-O Seven said defensively.

“I know who Alexander Lloyd is, and so do many here in MI6,” she continued. “How do you think he’s been kept so safe these past few years? It’s not just because you moved him to San Francisco.”

“MI6 is watching him over there?”

“Not exactly. Relax, the Americans aren’t really watching him either. Neither are the Kingsman, though that’s close. It’s the Wizard’s Eleven. A group of agents put together by Merlin from Kingsman who are assigned to protect your husband.”

“Eleven agents just for my husband?” James wondered.

“Yes. They rotate schedules, but he’s always protected. MI6 wants to be sure that when field agents return to civilian life, they and their families will be safe from those who might seek to exploit them. James, think. There are those who wold kidnap that the both of you and torture Alexander to get you to talk. And no one should have to choose between family and country. Now off you go. M needs to see you before your meeting with the Duchess.”

Inclining his head to Moneypenny, Double-O Seven turned toward the inner office.

“And James?” When he turned to face her she smiled. “Congratulations.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

M was always unreadable, and that was just one of the many reasons why she headed MI6. Double-O Seven had hoped that there would be some betrayal of emotion on her face, but none was there. Her appearance betrayed nothing as ever. She looked every inch a British grandmother, and to be sure she was that. She was just a British grandmother who was in charge of the secret service.

Thinking of family, Bond had to suppress a shudder at that thought of what would befall anyone foolish enough to make any sort of attempt on any of M’s family. No agency on Earth —MI6, CIA, NSA, Kingsman, Wizard’s Eleven, nothing!— would stop the vengeance that she would take, all the while never betraying her duty to the country.

“Good afternoon, Double-O Seven.”

“Moneypenny tells me I’m to be retired?” he demanded.

“Is that any way to bid a good afternoon to your superior?” M had given Bond a great deal of challenging news over the years, and yet this in some ways was the best and worst possible news any field agent could receive. “Yes, Double-O Seven. You’re to be retired from field work. If you like, you can be kept on retainer as a consultant, or even work in Q Branch.” She ignored his ungentlemanly snort of derision. “Or, you can be completely retired. Wizard’s Eleven will be assigned to you as well. Be grateful, Bond. Many field agents don’t live long enough to retire, voluntarily or otherwise.”

Though he couldn’t argue with her logic, he didn’t have to like it.

“I can choose for you, if need be,” M suggested.

“What would your choice be,” Bond asked, gobsmacked.

“I’d fully retire you, with the option to keep you as a consultant for MI6 in general and Q Branch in particular. And don’t scoff.”

“M, I only scoff because I don’t have the engineering skill or creativity to be a part of Q Branch,” he replied. “What they do there is completely outside my realm of expertise.”

“But, you could advise them on how feasible or useful some of the tools they devise may be,” M countered. “James, please. You’ve served MI6 faithfully for decades. Take the rest of you life to be a faithful husband. Grow old, James, grow old.”

“As an ex-pat in America?”

“Why not? San Francisco is a lovely city.”

“I’ve seen a lot of lovely cities that were little more than crowded, polluted, stinking—”

“Double-O Seven!” M drummed her fingers on the desktop. “You’re being retired. Where you decide to settle is up to you and Alexander. Wizard’s Eleven will shadow the two of you regardless. We can’t guarantee your safety. You’re a target, Bond, and you always will be. But we’ll do everything we can to make your transition to civilian life as smooth as possible.”

“That’s it, then?” James asked needlessly.

“I’m afraid so, Bond,” M confirmed. “You’ll be given a comfortable stipend, and you’ll surrender all of your property here in Britain. And while you’ll have to give up your beloved PPK, it’s probably for the best anyway. It’s not a very popular pistol in America.”

“I’ll want something that will allow me to blend in better,” he agreed.

“Precisely. Doesn’t Alexander have a Glock 19? Don’t look so surprised, Bond. We know a lot about him here. We’d have to.”

And that, more than anything else, confirmed in James’ mind that retirement would be a good idea after all. MI6 was watching his husband anyway, and not just through the protection of the Wizards’ Eleven. They had to be sure that Alexander wasn’t able to compromise Double-O Seven. If there was even the slightest risk of that, MI6 would have him killed in such a way that no amount of investigation would result in finding the death anything other than a tragic accident.

“We’ll make sure that the two of you will always have concealed carry permits,” M continued. “But, do be careful. There will only be so much that MI6 will be able to do to help if you get into any legal trouble over there.”

It seemed so final, M’s decision to retire him, in spite of the intention for Bond to be kept on retainer as a consultant. But he had to admit, it would be a relief to no longer have to trot about the globe, having to kill or be killed at a moment’s notice. Yet at the same time, the idea of not doing those things, the idea of being a pensioner, was never something he envisioned for himself.

“How soon will I need to surrender my sidearm?” he asked.

“Not until you land in America,” M replied. “And you’ll do that at the British Consulate. You’ll be flown in full diplomat status, so we can be assured of security during the flight. After you leave the consulate, the Wizard’s Eleven will handle your security, keeping MI6 and our American counterparts informed as needed.”

“This is a transition to civilian life?”

“For a Double-O agent? Yes,” M said matter-of-factly. Standing to come around her desk, and signalling that this meeting was concluded, M said, “Moneypenny will have a packet for you. Papers to sign, and whatnot. You can collect the packet on your way to meet with the Duchess.”

He numbly shook M’s hand, thanking her for her time, and took his leave.

 


	3. Chapter 3

If there was any such thing as “standard” off-boarding paperwork for MI6 field agents, it was in the manila envelope that Moneypenny had for James. He’d take care of it at his flat later. He had a more pressing engagement at Buckingham Palace to prepare for.

James was escorted to a drawing room where he found the Duchess using her tablet. Being the expertly trained Double-O agent meant that he was torn. Should he do his best to ignore what she was doing, or should he be trying to steal a glance at the tablet’s screen? The fact of the matter was that as his duty was to crown and country, every possible person could at any time be a suspect, even members of the royal family.

 _Maybe that’s another reason to be retired_ , he thought. _I could stop seeing anyone and everyone as threats._

Eventually, the Duchess turned from her tablet, acknowledging his presence.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bond.”

“Good afternoon, your Highness.”

“Please, sit down,” Catherine said warmly. Once he had taken a seat on the sofa she indicated, the Duchess joined him there and continued. “On behalf of the Royal Family, and all of the United Kingdom, I want to thank you for your service. You’ve done a great deal, and been through a great deal, for Queen and country, as well as the world in general.”

“There’s no thanks necessary, your Highness,” James replied. “I has been my pleasure and privilege to fulfill my duty.”

“First, you may dispense with ‘your highness.’ Second, it is my pleasure and privilege to convey the thanks of House Windsor to any and all MI6 operatives who have worked so tirelessly to keep this country safe.”

James nodded. “Then allow me to say ‘you’re welcome,’ my lady.” He paused for a bit, then added, “It feels so odd to say that.”

“Mr. Bond, I might be the Duchess of Cambridge, but I’m still an individual person of this country,” Catherine said. “I, like you, am a spouse. Yes, part of the reason to retire you now is indeed due to your age. You can’t operate in the field for ever. But also, you are a spouse. While I can’t relate to you in terms of your career, I can relate to being married. In the times when William and I are apart, it can be difficult. When was the last time you saw your husband, Mr. Bond.”

“About four months ago.”

“Including video chatting,” Catherine added.

James paused before saying, “Five and a half months.”

“Then you see that this is probably the most important reason for you to retire while you still can,” the Duchess said. “Go happily into old age, Mr. Bond, and do so with the gratitude of the Royal Family.”

“Thank you, my lady,” James replied. He needed to leave soon, as he felt it would be unseemly to shed tears, even tears of joy, in the presence of the Duchess. Fortunately, Catherine stood extending her hand, indicating that this meeting was concluded. James followed suit, standing as well.

“Good-bye, Mr. Bond,” she smiled. “Give my regards to your husband.”

And with that, James was escorted from the Palace and taken back to his flat. Once there, he found that he didn’t want to attend to the paperwork just yet. He wanted a distraction. But one such as James Bond couldn’t just go to a pub for a pint and a meal like any other citizen. Not without backup. As much as it galled him to do so, he quickly sent a text to Q Branch requesting escort so that he could go out for spot of supper. Within the hour, there was a knock at his door.

“Moneypenny?”

“Who were you expecting, R?” When James, once again, was struck silent by Moneypenny, she continued. “I am more than qualified to keep you safe, James.” Holding open her coat, he clearly saw silenced, modified SIG-Sauer she was so fond of —and so lethal with— under her left arm and multiple spare magazines under her right. With the flick of a switch, that semi-automatic pistol could be converted into a fully automatic sub-machine gun. Who knew what else from Q Branch she had in her purse and secreted about her person. “I won’t be having a pint, obviously, but perhaps we can find a simple, noisy place for you to have one. Maybe some fish and chips as well.”

“I do know a place that serves halal bangers and mash,” James offered.

“Ever the gentleman,” Moneypenny smiled.

“And, they do offer beer and wine for those who aren’t all that observant or for their non-Muslim customers.”

Moneypenny sighed dramatically. “Ever the practical, self-serving gentleman. Anyway, I think I know which pub you’re talking about. Let’s go. We can celebrate your retirement and marriage at the same time.”

“After you, my lady.”

 


End file.
